


Don't Let Me Drown Into This Silence

by InsomniacCoffee



Category: Metalocalypse (Cartoon)
Genre: Alcohol, But As Far As the T Rating Will Let Me Go, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Internal Monologue, M/M, Mentions of Drowning, Mild Sexual Content, POV Third Person, Post-Episode: S04E11 Breakupklok, Quarantine Inspired I guess?, Sad Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24061936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsomniacCoffee/pseuds/InsomniacCoffee
Summary: There are many forms of silence Pickles is used to. This time, the silence is too much.
Relationships: Charles Foster Offdensen/Pickles the Drummer
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Don't Let Me Drown Into This Silence

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, once again I return from my deep slumber with a new fandom and a whole lot of pain to give. After almost 5 years with this account, I can say that the single theme with writing for the few fandoms I did is getting into fandoms that are either finished, dead, almost finished, or still being on life-support by desperate fans while greedy execs cackle in the distance. So here I am, writing Metalocalypse fics in 2020-
> 
> I actually ended up writing this at the end of my 21st birthday (stuck in quarantine) after finished season 4 and DSR in one go. It was an emotional ride. 
> 
> While I can say the binge-watching helped write this story, it was definitely over a discussion of [fanart](https://lampmeeting.tumblr.com/post/614690211036839936/dont-be-suspicious-dont-be-suspicious) my friend [HeyMurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/pseuds/HeyMurphy) drew! I ended up bringing up the idea of Charles running his hands through Pickles' hair and combined with unknowingly making this half of a vent fic given today's current events (as of 05/07/20) turned to this mess-. ~~Chickles is my heart and soul now, I promise I'll write fluff on them later~~
> 
>  **07/07/20 Update** And once again [HeyMurphy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeyMurphy/works) fuels my writing and is so encouraging and she drew this [fanart](https://lampmeeting.tumblr.com/post/622937867863441408/been-plugging-away-on-this-slowly-but-surely) based on this fic and I honestly cry inside just looking at it- thank you again for drawing this; it's so beautiful ;-; 
> 
> **Date Written:**  
>  _04/06/2020 8:37 PM_  
>  **Date Finished:**  
>  _05/09/2020 4:04 AM_  
>  **Fic Song Recommendation:**  
>  _[Dilaudid](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ddsYn-NUfUQ) by Mountain Goats_  
>  **Author's Style Used For:**  
>  _Custom Divider, using different font for the entire fic_

** If we live to see the other side of this  
** ** I will remember your kiss  
** ** So do it with your mouth open  
** ** And take your foot off of the brake  
** ** For Christ's Sake! **

_ Dilaudid, The Mountain Goats_

* * *

There were various forms of silence Pickles was used to. One level of silence was of hotel rooms with the air conditioner running as cars, ambulances, police cars, and loud conversations in the distance, which was something he was most used to. Another level of silence was sleeping backstage after a concert. From conversations to reporters asking questions to the crew packing things up, it was as familiar as his voice. There were various other silences he had grown used to and almost sometimes relied on for comfort. He was a musician after all so he figured that, in some ways, the mundane noises had become almost like a symphony he never grew tired of hearing.

It technically wasn't silent to most people. By definition, silence meant no sound whatsoever. There are no comparisons. Just simple quietness. People aren't like that though. People like to compare things to other things to reach a broader understanding of a certain word. There are so many comparisons to silence to set a scene and even set a story that he was sure he hadn't heard all the comparisons one could make. Silence to a person could mean it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop, footsteps from 50 miles away, or even your heartbeat. It meant hearing conversations in other rooms because of how silent a room could be and because the walls are thin enough. Specifically, hearing conversations a child shouldn't hear when he was already questioning his own identity and relationship with his parents.

And quite frankly...he didn't want that type of silence ever again.

He was fine with his version of silences, anyway. It was comforting. As much as things change, the silence was always the same. The same background noise and the same familiarity. If things got too much, he got to step out. He got to take a smoke or alcohol break and simply enjoy the atmosphere as he listened quietly for the silence around him. It was always waiting for him much like how the guitar, drumsticks, booze, and drugs in his room always were.

Considering how much had changed in just a span of under a few days, he doubted that he would be able to get that silence he sometimes longs for. Not for a while anyway and then some more.

Sleeping in a submarine in one of the deepest trenches of the ocean provided to be a rather unfamiliar silence. He had slept in a submarine for months at a time before so the noises were not foreign to him. At a point, before the predicament happened, he considered it one of his favorite silences. The sound of water swaying quietly around outside his room window, the creaking of metal, and the occasional fish accidentally tapping on his window felt almost therapeutic. That was the kind of sound that would be hard to find in a white noise machine or video that was for sure.

For some reason though...it wasn't comforting or familiar when it came to trying to sleep. It was terrifying. The sound of metal creaking felt like any moment the submarine would just break apart into pieces and take him into the water. The water was swaying around the ship where he swore he could almost taste. It sounded so sinister and felt like it was trying to make the submarine break so it could claim him as its next victim. No fishes were tapping on his window as far as he could tell but any out of place sound had him looking out there. He was almost expecting to see Salacia’s inhumane like teeth attempting to break the window to kill him as easily as he did with his fallen record label owner. He swore for just that moment he could feel sharp teeth against his own flesh.

He didn’t have any of the stronger stuff that would calm him down and Charles completely banned cigarettes, weed, and whatever would cause smoke to avoid a potential fire hazard. He was stuck with alcohol and whatever other drugs he managed to smuggle in. Taking both didn’t help at all and only seemed to add more onto his slowly growing paranoia.

He felt stupid admitting it but despite his erratic thoughts, he realized he didn’t want to be alone. He just wanted to turn to someone but now that he was stuck in a submarine in the middle of nowhere, it’s quick to figure out how he had almost no one to turn to. It was something he took drugs constantly to avoid those thoughts but now that he was cut off from his comfort, he was left to those thoughts.

It meant now he had to face the situation and actually _talk_ with someone like a normal person. And given how he was stuck in a submarine, the options were pretty limited. Toki was a good-hearted person but he could never dump his problems on him if it meant he would get paranoid too. Skwisgaar and William definitely wouldn’t have understood and most likely hated him for causing the band to break up which he didn’t blame them for. And Nathan...he couldn’t even apologize to him, how could he possibly turn to someone who doesn’t ask for forgiveness?

There was only one person left to turn to. It wasn't even an option or last resort because he knew that even if the others were sane (or forgiving) enough, he wouldn't have gone to them anyway. Without giving it another second thought, he threw on his clothes and stumbled out of his room. Klokateers were in high security but didn’t ask where he was going. There was no way he could run off somewhere else anyway. He was trapped. He wished they would ask anyway for the sake of familiarity but found that too bizarre of a request to even bother with.

Pickles didn’t remember how but he somehow ended up in where Charles’ office was. He didn’t knock like he should’ve, much like how he shouldn’t have bothered showing up in his office in...well, time probably doesn’t exist in the ocean so who cares? Does time even exist anymore now that there are beings scarier than really bad hallucinations? _What if-What if-_ he pushed those thoughts away as he opened the door.

Almost instantly the smell of alcohol (and smoke?) hit him before he could step in. Charles was definitely in his office. In one corner of the desk, there were two empty bottles of brandy and whiskey with the other being surrounded by paperwork. He was in the middle; he had his head on his hands, a half-finished bottle of expensive whiskey in front of him. He seemed way too deep in his thoughts to notice he had entered.

“Charles?” He asked, stepping closer to him.

Any vulnerability was immediately tucked away the moment he spoke. He looked up at Pickles with the same stoic expression he always displayed, professional as he could be despite his hair being ruffled and his clothes slightly messed up, “Ah, Pickles...what are you doing here?”

He avoided the answer by asking his own stupid question, “Are you drunk?”

“No. Not even close. Are you high?”

“A little.” He admitted as he approached him closer. There was another seat in front of the desk so he dragged it to sit next to him. His eyes glanced at the bottle of whiskey before looking at him, “You can’t sleep?”

He shook his head. He handed Pickles the bottle of whiskey before leaning back against the chair. God knows if he had even planned on sleeping given his apparent plans of drinking the night away alone, “I technically haven’t tried to sleep yet. I’m guessing you can’t sleep either?”

Pickles finished the bottle in just a few long gulps, feeling the familiar burn on his throat as the aftertaste kicked in. There was no way just one half-empty bottle would even calm his nerves for the night, “Yeah...it’s...kinda hard to, y’know? Seeing something like that-it’s like out of a fuckin’ horror movie!”

“That’s putting it rather lightly.” Charles pointed out. He watched as Pickles set the now-empty bottle in the trash can. At least he had some politeness in him despite going through probably the most terrifying part of his life. He stood up to go over to his decently stocked liquor cabinet, pulling out an unopened bottle of brandy and two glasses.

“I thought you didn’t like using this brand unless it’s for those special occasions.” Pickles caught the brand of the bottle as he was pouring an unusually full glass for him.

Charles set the drink in front of him before another glass for himself, “I didn’t exactly say it had to be for _good_ special occasions, did I?” He gave the tiniest hint of a smirk and Pickles did the same. Him and his fucking loopholes.

“Not gonna argue with that.” He answered. Drinking expensive brandy while realizing that scary beings exist above ground seemed like something worth drinking over. 

By the time Charles finished pouring his drink and sat down again, Pickles already finished his drink and set it down. Instead of commenting on it, however, he simply handed the rest of the bottle to him, “Aside from drinking all my brandy, what else did you come here for?”  


Pickles didn’t look at Charles as he answered. He diverted his attention to pouring another full glass of brandy, “Dunno, just wanted to talk to someone.” 

“Do you still want to talk about it?" 

"I dunno." He could blame the alcohol for slowly making him more honest, "I just didn't wanna be alone. It's so...quiet. I fuckin' hate it." 

"I understand. I can't say that being trapped in a submarine underwater is helping with my own sanity too but it's the safest place we could be in right now." He took a sip of his drink, "It helps if you talk about what's bothering you."

Pickles didn’t say anything for a few moments. His drink was half empty by the time he set it down to speak, “That thing...Salacia. How do you know about him?”

Charles certainly expected the question but it didn’t stop him from taking a sip of his brandy as he tried to think of a good answer, “I can’t say right now. I promise I’ll tell you and the others later.” 

“What do you know exactly, Charlie?” Pickles pressed, almost pleading.

“Probably not enough but enough.” Charles answered.

“You and your fuckin’ bullshit answers.” He laughed dryly, “Can’t even give me a straight answer, dude?” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to. I just can’t right now. I promise that this is the last time I’m saying this.” He looked at him and Pickles could feel a mixture of both anger and pain when he did. He looked so tired and yet wasn't going to talk about his problems as well? What a hypocrite.

“You're always saying that!” Pickles shouted as he stood up. He approached Charles, grabbing him by the shoulders, “Look at you, Charlie. You're just as shitfaced as I am for the same reason! You said it yourself; it helps if you talk to someone so let me be that someone!" 

Before Charles could even speak, there was a sudden loud bang that startled both of them. While Pickles quickly moved under the desk, Charles quickly surveyed the area to see what could be making the noise. The door was fine so it took only one quick look at the glass to figure out the source of the noise. Despite the windows being blackened on the outside, it wouldn't stop sea animals from bumping into it. This time it was an octopus that just as quickly ran off once it hit the glass.

Pickles was still under the desk when he looked down. The now-empty bottle of brandy was by his side. Charles had to admit it was quite an accomplishment to finish a drink so quickly. He offered him his hand, "It's okay. It was just an octopus. It wasn't anything else." 

Pickles didn't say anything but reluctantly took his hand to stand up. He didn't let go when he did; he chose instead to look up at him, "Is this gonna be it? We're gonna fuckin' die of heart attacks from fishes?"

"I would say that's a better way to die at the moment." Charles retorted and Pickles laughed softly. He didn't let go of his hand either. He held his hand just a bit tighter as he approached him closer. 

They were close enough to be able to feel the heat from their flushed faces. He could blame the alcohol and drugs in the morning but he couldn’t lie to even his future self. He reached over and kissed him. Charles didn’t pull away and leaned closer to him as a silent agreement to continue kissing further. It was rough and almost full of an urgency that things between them would be cut shorter than they would imagine. And maybe it would be but Pickles tried not to think about it.

Before he knew it, they were in Charles’ room to escalate things further. Clothing was scattered carelessly across the ground as they made out, occasionally stopping for breath or to take off Pickles’ shirt. He somehow made it a talent to unbutton Charles' shirt without even having to break the make out at all. Just as soon as the last button was free, Charles took it off and threw it on the ground like with his jacket and tie earlier.

There was finally that moment where they stopped making out and Pickles looked up at Charles. He almost wanted to ask if he wanted to go through with it further (as if letting expensive clothing be wrinkled wasn’t commitment enough) but as his eyes wandered away from his face, his question turned to something else. Almost out of impulse, he gently reached a hand over to touch the large scar on his chest. It may have been quite a long time since the whole fiasco with Charles’ ‘death’ and the Crystal Mountain Record contracts but looking at the scar from how he was impaled brought in an unsettling feeling. He didn’t realize how big the object was. He didn’t realize it was enough to kill a person so easily if they were left lying on the ground to bleed out..., “Was this ‘cause of that night?”

Charles didn’t stop Pickles. There was a pause between the question and eventual answer, “Yes, but it’s nothing to worry about now.” He bent down to kiss him again but Pickles used the hand already touching his chest to stop him.

“I-Not tonight, sorry.” Pickles managed to say. While it definitely wasn’t their first time, it was the first time since Charles came back and he found himself too distracted to even want to continue. Shame washed over him and he wanted nothing more than to crawl in a hole and die.

“That’s okay.” Charles didn’t sound surprised or disappointed, “Let’s just get some sleep then.” Neither of them would be able to sleep but the idea of just being left alone wasn’t even an option.

He nodded and watched Charles moved over next to him. He pulled the blanket over them and as soon as he laid down, Pickles rest his head against his chest. He could feel Charles run his fingers through his hair. For those few moments, it was relaxing. It felt like a regular night together and they'd wake up and continue living their rich jackoff lives. The moments quickly subsided and as Pickles let his mind wander off again, he came to his own realization.

"You knew this was gonna happen." Pickles said softly. His words were vague and could mean anything. But they both knew what he had meant.

He could feel Charles stop midway. He swore he could feel his heart skip a beat before he spoke in a tone that he rarely ever heard. "I did."

Pickles could very well tell him to fuck off right then and there. He could yell for hours over why he let such things happen. He didn’t know to the extent of what he knew but it was enough to let his thoughts run wild. What else could he possibly know? How could he possibly know?

He had to cling onto Charles to not let the thoughts get any deeper than that. He let a choked out sob escape his throat because that’s all he could express.

Deep down, he had just a sinking feeling that Charles couldn't do anything if he wanted to. Something was going to change. Something as cold and dark as Salacia himself. It was a fear he hadn’t felt before and it was as uncomfortable and terrifying at the realization there was something more powerful than even them.

Charles knew everything and did nothing.

And because Charles knew everything, there was a reason why he didn’t stop things.

He wanted to ask so terribly why he didn’t stop things anyway. What purpose does heartbreak and hatred towards someone he considered his best friend have in the end? Would things even get better in the end or is the worst yet to come? He was so afraid of that answer he just couldn’t bring himself to ask any more questions.

Charles wrapped his arms around him and let him cling onto him tighter as he cried. Mixtures of ‘ _How could you?_ ’, ‘ _Why?_ ’, ‘ _I don’t know_ ’, ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’ filled the room.

It wasn't the type of silence that Charles was used to. But until morning came, he had to get used to it. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm uploading this now at 4 AM or I'll never want to upload this-I may fix this when I wake up. Other than that, thanks so much for reading! Hopefully, I'll now have more motivation to write more fics-


End file.
